


Stubborn.

by WhisperingMagpie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 21:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8913118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingMagpie/pseuds/WhisperingMagpie
Summary: He’d figure something out. Winchesters always do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I believe this fic came into existence by finding a random SPN cap and making up a story about it.

   

 

(Picture doesn't belong to me. )

 

> There was something Dean wasn’t telling him. Sam was sure of it. His brother had seemed on edge all day, more twitchy than usual, but he kept brushing Sam off whenever he was confronted about it. Said he was fine. Dean was never fine when he said he was fine. Sam kept a close eye on him all day, but nothing out of the ordinary happened.
> 
> Until they went to bed.
> 
> Dean was staying clear on the other side of the bed with his back turned, instead of nestling up next to him like usual.
> 
> “Dean, I know something’s going on. Tell me and we’ll figure it out.”
> 
> Sam leaned closer, reaching a hand out to Dean’s shoulder and attempting to turn him over. Dean shoved him off and turned back to the wall, snapping at him.
> 
> “Leave it alone, Sam. I’m fine!”
> 
> Sam sighed and laid on his back, staring at the ceiling and frowning. If Dean didn’t want to talk, they’d just have to sort it out in the morning.
> 
> He was awoken by a low snarling next to him, and he sat up with a jolt, digging under his pillow for his gun. It wasn’t there. He looked around the dark room quickly just as a dark shape shifted beside him. He turned on the lamp, searching the beside table for something to use as a weapon.
> 
> The figure leapt on his back and they both tumbled to the floor. Sam struggled to turn the creature over, and what he saw made him gasp. The writhing thing was Dean, but his eyes were slitted and yellow, sharp teeth bared. Dean shoved him off and swiped at his face, leaving a few shallow scratches on his cheek before bolting out the window.
> 
> Sam yelled in pain and pressed his palm to his cheek while he scrambled to his feet. He ran to the window to look for his brother. “Dean!” he shouted after him.
> 
> Dean was already long gone, and he would be too fast for Sam to search on foot at this time of night. He would have to wait until morning when Dean would have stopped running and changed back.
> 
> Sam dug in his duffel and fished out some gauze, pressing it to his cheek to stop the bleeding. Then he pulled out his laptop. He made a few calls. By morning, the scratches had scabbed over, and he still had nothing on how to turn Dean back. He stood and stretched, and went to the window to look down at the streets, expression worried and somber. He’d figure something out. Winchesters always do.


End file.
